Nocturnal Germany
by Sir H. Sol-Solis
Summary: Ludwig awakens, and is confronted with a severe longing for the man with whom he shares his counterpane, Veneciano. He is ashamed of his ensuing actions.  Reviews make me :D!  GerIta.


Swathed in the deep navy of the nocturnal hour, and obscured by the grey of the pupils' reaction to the dark, the surroundings perpetuated an asphyxiating silence. A moon the colour of honey glistened amidst the coruscation of piercing stars; though its low form was visible via night-cooled panes, only its green rays were acknowledged by the figure that lie awake within the space in which it shed its glow.

This figure blinked laboriously at the ceiling, periodically scrunching his eyelids especially tight to one another, in an attempt to rid them of the feeling of weariness pressing at them. Eventually he glanced at the digital clock to his left, which registered 2:36 in its neon display; having instigated the action out of habit, however, he did not retain the hour, and found it necessary to pass his gaze over the numbers again.

Breathing shallowly, he pondered the reason for his restless state. In the still space, he was acutely aware of his physique; his heartbeat he could feel in the pit of his abdomen, and also in the soft area of his neck, directly below his ears. His musculature was beset with tension, an uneasy ache pulsing surreptitiously in the cores of his limbs.

He was prepared to feel lonesome, when he perceived an unnatural warmth against the posterior of his knuckles. He was not alone at all. The heated exterior of a young man's body was situated alongside the man's hand. Ludwig reluctantly drew his limb away from the flesh, his skin jumping unexpectedly following the sensation. It was true that he'd woken with his corporeal self exhibiting an extent of physical yearning, which was not strange to him; his psyche had presented him the normal accompaniment to this yearning, a feeling of estrangement and isolation, and the consequential throb of desire for companionship.

Ludwig's housemate's proximity soothed and thrilled him. In his mind he woke the man, smothering the beloved countenance with kisses and the soft breaths between, sweet susurrations of honest confessions falling on the ears of that dear figure, these so understated that they would scarcely interrupt the quiet of the room, though they'd alter the atmosphere entirely. Illuminated by the teal beams thrust through the window, the shoulders and nape of the youth reposed peacefully. It blossomed in the man's consciousness that, bedding aside, his partner's physique remained free of the barriers apparel created; and all at once Ludwig could imagine the bare shape of the young man, in its place beneath the coverlet, so vividly that it felt almost as if he were sliding his fingertips over those recalled surfaces as he conjured them.

His pulse reached a frenzy. Interiorly he clambered with the restrained ardor, which swelled so vigorously throughout his organs it seemed deafening. The slumbering creature at his right not only goaded on his amorous compulsions, he reflected, but put a halt to any chance of his alleviating them, too. Of course, he could simply leave the room, but Veneciano was so lovely, and he always slept soundly...

_I ought to be ashamed,_ he thought, _for considering such a thing._ Yet, his hand lingered momentarily against the inner wall of his thigh, where it had slithered to during the course of his fantasies. He reclined on his side, looking fixedly at his housemate's silhouette through half-closed eyelashes. _I'll ignore it. I'll fall asleep, and I won't have to worry about it._

Smiling faintly, he brought his digits to the young man's crown, drawing them smoothly through the burnt russet of the locks. _Goodnight, dearest_, he whispered internally, readying himself for sleep.

A sudden, quaking twitch agitated the body of the young man, accompanied by a low whine; taken aback, the German recoiled and, propping himself up on his hands, loomed over the lad, whose countenance bore a peculiar expression.

"Are you awake?" he muttered.

From the deeper regions of the individual's esophagus arose a gentle groan. His head snapped back. Kicking out a leg, the youth pivoted on his spine, to lie flat against the sheets below. Ludwig inched nearer the edge of the bed to give room to his cohabitant.

Ludwig had a guess as to Veneciano's circumstance. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in anticipation as he shifted his gaze from the man's face. Squinting, he found that, indeed, the silhouette possessed the feature he expected. There before the German's roving optical units was a slightly raised area on the bedspread, between where the tendons of Veneciano's thigh musculature met their corresponding arc of an iliac crest.

He backed further from the younger man, worried about what he might allow himself to do if any square inch of his partner's flesh happened to coincide with his own. The edge of the bed was closer than he'd imagined, as was the end of the bedspread; the sound asleep youth possessed the majority of both, and his beleaguered observer struggled to find a comfortable position aside him whilst pulling in vain at the sheets.

Finally acknowledging defeat, he quit the futile endeavor, and lay sideways, pensively taking in the small shifts of his partner's physique. It was necessary for him to hold himself tense to keep from slipping towards the brink of the mattress. This state being an uncomfortable one, he temporarily relaxed his musculature to move into a slightly less aggravating position; and at that moment, an unanticipated sensation blossomed along the base of that anatomy which had stiffened in response to his amorous condition, his physique barely restrained from buckling in response.

Heart skipping a beat, he glanced down swiftly at the guilty flesh; the taut fringe of an ivory sheet tugged gently against it, and following the fabric entity to the source of its movement, he found that it was the contracting leg of his housemate that instigated the sensation. Afflicted first by a corporeal reaction to the provocation, his primary response was to lean the overwrought organ into the longed-for contact. He was shocked to realize how his musculature, in his state of heightened desire, so desperately sought touch that it naturally impelled itself towards the supplier of it.

The limb which had caught the ivory expanse pulsed beneath the bedspread, and the cloth's drag against Ludwig's nervous structure continued, undeterred. The leg's host shuddered lightly into the air, an action which was unknowingly mimicked by his bedmate. His body pleading for respite, Ludwig grimaced, enamored, and bowed his head.

_If this is going to happen, _he thought, _I must not make the bed wet. He mustn't know._

Gently he pried, with hypersensitive fingers, the sheet from his excited exterior. A bead of liquid, yet unbroken, clung to the tip of the organ. His thumb and his forefinger grasped about the base of the affected edifice, and he witnessed, guilt afflicting but not dissuading him, as those digits ascended the hypersensitive hide. The glossy solution welled out of its column, spilling over the rear of his thumb.

From his right, gentle utterances were repulsed into the otherwise hushed atmosphere. His bedmate continued his affair with an intangible rapture-giver, and due to the turbulent nature of the lad's stirrings, Ludwig supposed the beloved being was beginning to approach the zenith of his endeavors.

_I want to be the one making him feel that way, _he thought, imagining his fingers were instead pleasing the young man, as if his own arousal was not an effect of his restless digits, but a consequence of the notion of gratifying his bedmate. Flushed limbs scaled and constricted about the equally roseate, bulbous dome at the promontory of his perked apparatus, and he envisaged the breathless shudder of his housemate, as the complaisant entrance to that individual's being yielded to his bare, ruddy flesh; Ludwig was forced to choke back the resonance that assailed his esophagus, thrilled as his besieged figure was at the fantastic intimation.

The rhythm of his companion's maneuvers had matured into a frenzy, and the wakeful man heeded them warily, as their visions augmented those sensations for which his own breath had become cumbrous. A clenching hand shuffled deliriously against the bedspread, its exterior verging on the periphery of Ludwig's waist. He did not deter it, allowing it to scuttle against the margin of his starboard external oblique. In his imagination, the wandering extremity did not cease its movement where it had, but rather swept upwards over the muscle, before shifting down the man's pelvic crest into regions indescribably sensitive.

Veneciano's pelvis jolted, rising. Within his rattling breath there developed a soprano tone, gently at first, but escalating as the figure advanced on its foray into corporeal gratification. The spectator slowed his handling of himself, weltering in the alteration of pace, the scenery about him becoming black at one point and then emerging from obscurity into his vision, as his eyelids shut and opened blearily with the upsurges of delectation with which he was beset. A transition was occurring in his nervous system; his physique was ablaze with sensation, and inside the core of his being there emerged a new phenomenon, a distant, lucid feeling that, he knew, would roil from that spark into an effulgent magnificence and consume him. He peered through half-lidded oculi at the struggling entity aside him. A cold sweat broke out across the span of his epidermis. _Suppose he wakes up when he climaxes. What if he wakes up when he climaxes and sees me doing this here beside him..._

And for the flash of a second, something within him whispered, _So what, let him wake up._

The carnal frame was overthrown. Powerless it was to dissuasion, its caretaker in his ecstasy rendered nearly incapable of being anything other than subservient to that bliss. Several of his vocal modulations were impossible to throttle back, and, even had the idea of doing so occupied the forefront of his upheaved mind, the man could not have asphyxiated the tones willingly. In the furthest reaches of his cranium Ludwig was aware of the turbulent shaking the mattress made underneath his tempestuous physique; too distantly removed from his priorities was the external situation, however, for him to act against its persistence. The crescendo collapsed; he swooned gratefully, heaving, supine, with it.

His unfocused gaze struggled to hold the chestnut-haired lad once more within its sphere; the creature aside him, whose respirations kept catching within a stuttering larynx, lingered similarly in the aftereffects of his venery. A ruby hue lay over the genial zygomatic arches, and joy- weak, for its hopelessness- arose within the viewer. Sighing, Ludwig stretched his head backwards, rolling his eyes away beneath their husks, before, a few deliberate expirations later, he was able to take a seated position atop the mattress. He remained in this position as he resolved, raking reddened fingers despondently through flaxen locks.

The corporeal sensations lingered in some core of his physical structure, it was not over the loss of these that he repined; and as they lengthily subsided, that which troubled him did not follow them in their diminishing, but incised deeper into his psyche. He daren't lay his foul eyes on the man who shared his bed, for fear of sullying the benevolence of the organism with his debaucherous notions. Why hadn't he restrained himself, or taken this practice to another room, at least, to spare the creature his presence, if not also his wandering attention? Moreover, how could he have been so out of his head with rapture, as to have allowed his companion's digits to come into even the slightest contact with his flesh, to therefore facilitate his carnal compulsions? The lascivious swine! He'd let himself use the body tissue of the unconscious being for his individual pleasure... and he'd told himself he loved this creature! Should that one labeled 'beloved' have been in the condition to react, the dear-held individual would under no conditions have encouraged the man's prurient inclinations, with its tactile self or otherwise.

Sickened and distraught, the man lifted himself, his feet finding a cold floor; he waded through gently tugging shame to a cool toilet-room, where the air was still, and smelled more of chlorine bleach than of a quiet sweat-excreting, pulse-fluttering, desire-laden human.


End file.
